


Un Long Dimanche de Fiançailles

by AlluringMary



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Because of Reasons, Episode: s03e16 Blood Fever, F/F, F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, Getting Together, It seemed fine at the time, Omega Reader, Other, Pon Farr, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlluringMary/pseuds/AlluringMary
Summary: Set during and after Blood Fever, an unidentified phenomenon sends all twelve omegas on board Voyager into early heats. Being one of those poor souls, and nursing an unrequieted crush on a certain Vulcan, it shouldn't surpise you how poorly this all goes down.But it still does.
Relationships: Vorik (Star Trek)/Reader, Vorik/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Un Long Dimanche de Fiançailles

**Author's Note:**

> There's just something about minor characters man...
> 
> Reader doesn't have a set gender BTW

When your eyes open and you are conscious of your surroundings for the first time in days, pain is but the second thing you become aware of. The first thing you notice is the harsh sunlight you have to cower from, it blinds you and helps in no small way with the dry feeling of your mouth. Only then do you wince from the potent lack of water, the pull and stretch of tired muscles and the give of bruised and broken skin. The sand stuck in your hair and in the healing patches of your skin doesn't help either and as you struggle to sit up, the fourth thing you take notice of is the low growl of the beta at your side.

Or rather, you think just as Vorik's weight forces you back down into the burning sand, the Vulcan. His skin is hot, scathing even against your own and he's louder than the waves crashing onto the beach when he growls into your face. You've difficulty reconciling this face with the Vulcan race, much less the quiet engineer who sometimes beat you at billiards and who you'd mooned over for the better part of two months. Yet there he was digging your head further into the sand by pressing the flat of his arm down onto your chest to keep you still.

You can almost forget that this is all your fault.

Inevitably, you yelp in pain and the pressure vanishes almost instantly, the pain in his is eyes palpable. But strangely, the hurt in his eyes translates into an unease, one that taps deep into your chest, into your heart. Still, he doesn't speak. Softly, tenderly, his hand cradles your cheek. You can feel his fingers splay and come to a stop beneath your hairline and to the left of your eye.

An image takes form, a burst of color inside your mind before it morphs into proper shape--it appears then, real as can be, your own face warped in some way. Through your own confusion, you sense the feelings that push the image forward, a barrage that only grows. Thoughts that aren't your own, animalistic in nature, purely instinctual overflow. They scream of regret, for forgiveness and serve to distress you further but also help you understand his condition, bring you closer to the end of your heat's effects.

You've forgotten most of your mating but the past events become only clearer the longer Vorik presses into your mind. He feels the shift, a bloom of warmth occurs, sudden heat awakening inside of you. You see yourself, feel yourself, feel him, taste him on every part of you. The bite of the smell of your sweat rising from your skin, the unbridled lust and need coursing through your bodies. Aches since long worn off come alive and so do the Vulcan's past caresses.

You force yourself to look beyond the bond and into his focused brown eyes. A wave of lust overtakes you then, a brute and powerful thing that throws your previous efforts to keep your mind your own out of the window. The shock alone sets your blood ablaze and his lips crash into yours, dry and cracked from the lack of water but soon the kiss becomes wet, deep. Sometimes during the kiss, his hand drags away towards your collarbone and you push his hips lower unto yourself. A desire that is not solely your own overtakes you, an encroaching lust that runs through your entire body and leaves you weak and pliant.

It hurts obviously; after days of partially forgotten sex every inch of you is tender, bruised and hypersensitive. And despite the desire burning in you both, every moves he makes are reluctant to hurt you, his fingers are careful in their prodding, caressing softly your entrance before you yourself whine after too long a wait. He's sorry, pleading, he's been careless before, didn't know how to care for a human mate. The pace set now is gentle, with each thrusts the bond ripples with pleasure. Distantly, beyond the rise and grind of your hips, you can feel the press of fingers to the side of your face and the hum of half-finished, half-begun thoughts.

_Partedburningnevertouchingminealwayswant_

  
//

Stardate 50538.2 -- July 16th, Day shift, 10:37

  
There's something comforting about Engineering. Perhaps it's the soothing pulse of the warp core, its blue glow or the quiet chatter of your superiors or a person in particular who's just about disappeared but whenever you stray from your own department, there's always something that begs you to loiter around.

“Cadet,” Engineer Ashryl, the sole Andorian aboard, looks over his padd. His antennae swing lazily about, sensing the air. “I don't recall anyone sending for you.”

“I'm off-duty, sir.” You do your best not to fidget too much. “I was only taking a little stroll.”

“Then I'm sure you won't mind taking that stroll away from the warp diagnostic assembly?” You can't discern if the sound he then makes is a huff or snort, “You've been walking in circles for some time now and it's not only you. Plenty of humans have been wandering about.”

“Really? That's strange, I hadn't noticed.” Yet as he walks up to you and turns you away from the core, you do notice two other humans from Communications and a few others you know only by sight milling about.

“It's getting hard not to.” Ashryl grumbles, “It's none of my business truly but if all this excitement doesn't end soon, I might direct you all to the nearest airlock, human customs be damned.”

You frown, “I don't think this is a human... affair, sir.” But looking at the people around, yellow and blue both, it's hard to deny that this is obviously human behavior. “I'm at a loss.”

“Why are you all flocking here, I wonder.” His antennae flatten upon his head, rapidly twitching, “You are usually all such gossips but this drama about Lieutenant Torres is over with. I assume you've heard?”

“Of a Vulcan attacking a Klingon? The entire division has been talking about it.”

Ashryl's antennae suddenly part out, rising above his skull, “You would think a Vulcan would have a jaw made of something sturdier than glass.” He chuckled, “However, unless you have achieved telepathy recently, I don't see what you are all doing here. Silent.”

You look furtively around, noticing indeed none of them are even muttering under their breath, “How strange.” Derisively, you snort, “It's almost like they're in a trance.” And then, instinctively, you sniff around. Sterile. Environmental systems do their jobs perfectly to recycle and purify the stagnant air. But a waft of spice makes you pause, look around to seek the source of the smell.

“Cadet?”

The trail leads you to a teal-colored uniform walking along to a golden one, the ensign obviously has some Betazoid ancestry judging by her blown black eyes but the smell emanating from her is human, omega. One on the cusp of a heat, no less.

“What? I am _not_!” Her scandalized tone whips you into a straight posture. Right, you think, Betazoid.

The Vulcan at her side raises both eyebrows at the curious exchange. “Jurot, is something the matter?” The cool voice snaps both your attention towards Vorik who to his credit does not even raise an eyebrow when caught in the crossfire. You do exchange greetings while Jurot readies herself. A thousand questions burn on your tongue, mainly about him assaulting Torres, why your heart is out of synch when you think of him and how good his behind looks in tennis shorts.

The Betazoid-Human hybrid answers negatively but turns a dark glare on you when you insist, “But you are!”

“Impossible.” Jurot huffs in defiance, “I have been through one just three weeks ago, I still have five months left.” And when Ensign Vorik neatly crosses his arms over his chest, her face grows red and she then snaps, “Not that it's any of your business.”

“It is when there's a dozen of us...” As all your past thoughts had been communicated through her due to her race's telepathic abilities, Jurot naturally absorbs your current surface thoughts. Vorik, at her side, and half a dozen Bajorans and Humans working closely openly stare when she gasps and very colorfully addresses her current predicament.

  
//

Stardate 50538.4 -- July 16th, Day shift, 12:23

  
“I don't understand how this could have happened,” The doctor fumes, running a tricorder's small hand sensor over your scent glands for the tenth time in a hour. “Each one of you have received the proper injections just two weeks ago, there's no reason for any of you to be developing a heat months in advance.”

“Perhaps it's a result of being on Voyager for so long. Somehow everyone's menstrual cycles could have synced.”

“Thank you, cadet.” He mocks, moving over to the next omega. “I will make sure to make it very clear when I am in need of your opinion.” Someone laughs to your right, yet another omega smelling of spice and sweat. You grumble about his non-existent bedside manner and Kes, radiating nothing but attention and understanding comes to direct you to a monitor.

“I've just put up your declaration of absence, you'll need to fill in some details.” And of course, because it's all so alien and interesting to an Ocampa, she probes, “I've noticed humans are much more open about their sexual reproductive cycles than many other species on board.”

“Well our cycles are relatively short, it wouldn't be a good idea keep it all to ourselves. Especially in this kind of situation.”

You read quickly through the information sheet, only pausing twice--first when you notice the doctor's colorful and surely spiteful addition in the 'heat traits' category which reads as follows 'Prone to aggressive behavior and biting, gagging is advised' and then when your eyes fall upon the 'designated partner' line and realize it is empty. Back at the Academy, your training officer would have given you a list to choose from in the safety and privacy of your own quarters. Sometimes, you'd even had the opportunity to write down 'whoever' after taking too long to send in your sheet.

The arrival of a pair of Miradorn had both terrified and appealed to your primal self but when, two days later, you'd regained your senses and saw the two men struggling to fit in your shower, you'd been taught two valuable lessons: always hand in paperwork on time and never leave anything to luck.

But there you were, in a crew stranded in the delta quadrant with less than fifty alphas prepared to spend a human heat with you.

“Have you thought of anyone yet?” She asks, eyeing your file on the screen. “I heard even Commander Chakotay has signed into the database.”

You can't help the grin that breaks out, “Then I'm sure he'll have his hands plenty full. I never thought the captain would allow senior officers to participate, even as short-handed as we are.” Your hands hover over the keyboard, you're still unsure of your next course of action.

Kes stepped to your side, “You could ask for the cadet you came with, he's an alpha after all.”

Your small group of cadets had only contained three students and only two of the three hopefuls had been omega and alpha and none of you had planned on spending your lives aboard a single ship. It was logical, you supposed, to stick together when you hadn't even graduated from the academy, had been snatched away from your homes on your first off-world training exercise but even working alongside the two midshipmen had become tiresome.

“No, huh, I don't think I will.”

“That's too bad,” She said, sweet as ever, “Because cadet Balliol has made sure to also sign in as available in the database.”

“Really...” Bee, as you all call him, had never taken a no for an answer, you didn't know how more straightforward you could get truly. “I'll keep that in mind.” And as you said it, your fingers landed on the tactile pad of the computer and with a tap of your index, you checked the feared 'spending heat alone' option. “That settles it then.”

When you turned to face her, she was bright pink and apologized before busying herself with the next patient. You'd have to say something to her later, maybe think of a good excuse when you were still yourself.

  
//

Stardate 50544.2 -- July 18th, Swing shift, 15:46

  
His panting has fallen to a steadier breathing when the doctor's voice pierce through the quiet sounds of the waves. You've since then relocated to further into the holographic resort and into merciful shade. “Ensign Vorik, please respond.”

A sense of alarm echoes in your mind, reflexively you sit up straight. At your side, Vorik tenses up, waiting for a potential challenger to appear and defy him in combat. The _kal'i'fee_ , the strange hum inside of your mind provides, the challenge. You put aside the water you'd been gracelessly gulping down and gasp out, uncaring as the replicated liquid spills everywhere. “Doctor?”

“Ah cadet, it is good to know you are conscious by now. Except for slight dehydration, your vital signs are in normal range, you seem to be in perfect health.”

“I guess you could say that.” You mutter. A sharp sense anger emerges and Vorik tightens his hold around your arm. Mangled thoughts of danger and fear make way, you try and reassure him through the bond but the flow of emotions is too strong, all reassurances are slapped aside.

“Doc, you talking isn't helping things.” You snap and your responding to the untraceable voice only exacerbates your current situation. Hurt but defiant, Vorik snarls and brings you down into the cushions. There's no fighting the superior strength or the incomprehension in his hollowed, sad eyes. “Really not helping!”

The doctor sounds outraged, as he so often is when his patients get snappy with him. “Well then, I'll make this brief. While the readings for Ensign Vorik appear to be normal for his condition, they are steadily decreasing. He should become more... aware of his surroundings in less than a day or so.”

“A day!?” Your stomach constricts at the thought of staying in this heat and your multitude of healing scars need immediate intention less you wind up having to spend an eternity under a dermal regenerator. You'd rather not think of your body odor with so many fluids, yours and his equally, drying on every inch of your skin. Then again, the present company is... 

“It seems you made that choice yourself when you defied orders and headed into the lion's den so to speak.” But then, while a slender yet powerful body splays over yours in a futile effort to hide you away from the nonexistent threat. The doctor adds, sounding subdued. “However, Captain Janeway has made clear she is ready to interrupt your mating were you to show signs of distress.”

The bond, newly formed but strengthening, gives you pause. It's a link so profound and powerful you've only just began to make sense of... but it's appeasing nonetheless. You've felt firsthand the affect the separation from you could cause him, you've no interest in knowing what it would feel like when echoed through yourself as well.

“No, I'm fine.” You say, half distracted by the sudden bite of teeth into your collarbone. Looking down at a cloud of soft black hair, you continue through the feel of a hot tongue gliding over your skin. “Could you thank the captain for me, please?”

You jump in surprise when the captain's voice replaces the doctor's and Vorik appears just as startled by the new arrival and your attempts at dislodging him from his new chew toy. “No need, cadet. It's good to hear from you, we were anxious to know if you were alright.”

Oh, that's humiliation climbing up your throat alright. “Thank you Captain, this is-- thank you.”

You can tell she's amused just by the sound of her voice, it's infused with mirth. “There will be more to discuss later but in the meantime... Good health.”

Tight-lipped, you don't answer, opting instead to cower under the comforting warmth of the body on top of yours. As the voices have quieted and you once more reach for your drink, the hard line of Vorik's body relaxes. The heat setting is merciless and your stomach constricts on itself when you become aware of your hunger.

Just as Vorik beings trailing kisses along your jaw, you say. “I'm sorry.”

  
//

Stardate 50550.0 -- July 20th, Swing shift, 18:45

  
Once washed, patched up and properly clothed, reality sinks in as quickly as Vorik tightens his grasp on his emotions. Before you're fully aware of all your wandering into Holdodeck 1 entirely entails, you're receiving congratulations from every side, from people you must have only talked to once in the two years you've coexisted with them, Starfleet and Maquis alike--a traditional celebration of your union is even proposed by Lieutenant Tuvok. The Captain herself whose laughter you remember all too well offers her personal wishes of good fortune. From what you've gathered from the crew, amid several pats on the back and invasive questions about your newly acquired husband, three other pairs have decided to make their mating official.

And B'Elanna Torres both broke Paris' nose and bruised one of his ribs during their own bout of mating on the planet's surface. Somehow, the alpha had been seen sporting a broad grin and thus displaying sticky red teeth just a day ago.

There's even a rumor going about of the Delaney sisters spending their heats with Commander Chakotay at the same time. Bee, proudly showing off a red bite mark at the junction between his neck and shoulder--a remnant from his two days with an omega ensign--is sure of his source. “Chell told me that Brookes said she saw Megan scamper from Chakotay's quarters last night. Apparently Jenny's still in there. But the thing is, Gerron is swearing up and down that the Commander actually took Kim to his bed.”

Lynnawhin, in her typical Zeldan manner and in doing so in her dubious pasta dish, grumbles, “Humans...”

“Speaking of which,” Bee says, “Vulcans! You're married to one!”

“I hadn't noticed.” You deadpan.

“You know what I mean... They're so private about everything. My station's just a row away from his, we've eaten a few times together and I even played a game of tennis with him and some maquis once and I have no idea what he's even like!”

Lynnawhin asks, while still chewing, “Does he have a pronged penis? I've heard Vulcans are so shy about their mating practices because they look freaky down there.”

Bee openly stares now, “No way, prongs? Only Caitian males have those.” But then he fixes an inquisitive look on you. “But I've heard that Vulcans evolved from felines.”

Your fellow cadet shrugs, “I bet he's all green there. Would you say it's neon or apple green?”

“Both of you, cut it out.” You snap but instead of deterring her, the look your roommate gives you assures you you'll hear more of her questions in the near future. “Can't you guys respect the fact they don't like talking about it?”

“There's our bright and shining new Lady Amanda!” Bee jokes, filling the table with bright laughter although the humor dies down with the strength of your glare. “Never mind.”

“I'm going back to our room,” You mutter, pushing your plate further into your tray.

Lynn's face brightens at the news. “When are you moving out? I've already sent a request to Lieutenant Tuvok for permission to install a mud bath.”

“Oh really guys, there's no need to tell me how much you'll miss me. I might just go into overload.”

“You snore too much anyway,” The Zeldan justifies, a smile breaking onto her lips. “Plus you get to be with your husband, it's a perfect compromise.”

As you get up and prepare to bring your tray to the replicator, Bee looks down at Lynn's webbed fingers. “Wait did you say mud bath? I thought Zeldans were aquatic?”

Lynnawhin is the one to look puzzled now, “Who says we aren't?”

“You bathe in mud?”

“I intend to sleep in it.”

Just as you make a hasty retreat you hear someone from a nearby table say out loud, “What? Mud isn't water.”

  
//

Stardate 50538.8 -- July 16th, Swing shift, 16:15

  
The undershirt underneath your uniform is treacherously tight, sticking and irritating. Yet not so much as the standard issued poly-cotton of your pants' inner seam when the heat truly sets in. The doctor's pumped you full of stabilizers. They don't work, you can tell. Everything's hot and drags. The doors take ages to slide open, the stares of the alphas, betas and scentless crewmen grate. You're acutely aware of the slow of their breathing, their conserving your scent to memory.

In the last leg of your walk to recently freed quarters, the dig of your bag into your shoulder is unbearable. You stumble, trip constantly, half the time can't express yourselves outside of groans. There's one, an alpha, tall one. Just coming your way, she can't help looking at you. Is it too much to ask to be held, can't she satisfy you?

The alpha whimpers plaintively when you burrow your nose in her collar, filling your lungs with her musky scent. What possessed you to refuse this? The alpha vanishes when you step back and walk away. But it's not an alpha that you want. You don't want her musk, you hunger for something else, someone alien.

Your hand closes around your combadge, the chirping bothers you. In a wild movement, you rip it off. The weight on your shoulder's gone. The chirping is faint now. Doors slide open, the air grows thin and hot. Someone's calling for you, scentless. Alien. His hands are spasming, his gaze haggard. There's strength in those lean muscles, intellect behind those brown eyes.

Moans die along the square of his jaw, so do mumbled words along the length of your neck. You're pushed back, held against a holographic wall. Surreptitiously, thoughts form inside your heat addled mind. They jerk around, struggling to fit. _Adapt_ , a voice says, _you can claim this one._

Hands slide from your temples, never once resting, forever seeking even while moving. Only once do they pounce when, breathless, you call out, “Vorik!” Sand forms under your boots, sunlight streams from afar on skin not hidden by your mate.

The chirping, weight are gone and when fingers caress yours, only want remains. There's yearning, thoughts of a trapped animal prawling in a cage begging to be released to consume. He wants... he wants...

  
//

Stardate 50552.3 -- July 21st, Swing shift, 14:29

  
You need help.

Crucial, borderline emotional kind of help. If this relationship is going to develop properly, you'll need to know exactly what you're up against.

Lieutenant Tuvok is, for a lack of better word, the logical choice.

“I hoped you might have some insight. You've been married to a Vulcan for years and well... you are a Vulcan.”

Agonizingly slowly, your commanding officer slides a pin in place into the strange sphere-shaped game he calls _kal-toh_. Once he is done with his task and already considering his next move, Lieutenant Tuvok says matter-of-factly, “Cadet, I must say that your deduction skills leave something to be desired, as does your experience in relationships.” He barely wastes a second before making his next move and shaping the multitude of pins into a more sphere-like structure. “Your situation is particularly unique yet your union to Ensign Vorik is not something unheard of and so, nothing to be afraid of.”

“I am not afraid of being... married.”

“I am sure. Your current issue is relating to a man of another species of who I happen to be apart of.”

“Vulcans have a different perception of marriage and I'm not sure I can fit into his vision.”

Tuvok stills his hand and shifts his gaze to you, “You wish to dissolve your bond?”

It's easy to detect the infinitesimal strain to the Lieutenant's level voice and quickly do you realize the implications behind this assumption. “I know I wasn't his first choice, Vorik and I were barely friends before... before. But I don't intend to separate unless he wishes to. I only want to know how I could better connect with him.”

Tuvok plucks a pin from the game. If he truly is relieved from your reassurance he does not show it. “It is my impression that to nurse a successful bond, bondmates should be open to one another and prioritize communication and honesty above all else. If you happen to have doubts about Ensign Vorik, the more logical approach would be talking with him.

“I may give you advice as you wish, but none that I could give could rival with that your bondmate would provide.” With a final move, the intricate form began to morph into an almost flawless structure. “I am from a lunar colony, Ensign Vorik hails from Raal province. My early teachings are prominently Surak's, I would think your bondmate's are more aligned towards Jarok's judging by his birthplace.”

You deflate in your seat, a little taken aback. “Of course.”

“How narrow-sighted for a race to believe only them possess a plethora of diasporas. It is not a trait unique to humanity, as I happened to notice.”

“I apologize, Lieutenant” You say even now that the harm is done. “I meant no offense.”

The Lieutenant collects yet another pin from the pile on his side of table and over the Kal-toh affirms, “There is no offense where none is taken.” With this last move, the game resets itself and perfect octagons form throughout. Only then does Lieutenant Tuvok meet your gaze. “I encourage you to grow close to your mate, especially now that your bond is new and developing. Nurture it--do, as you humans say, 'strike while the iron is hot'.”

  
//

Stardate 50549.7 -- July 20th, Swing shift, 16:04

  
Amid the negligible exodus on board, moving quarters is far less hectic than you anticipated. The trade-in offers a considerable distance from the main sciences division but in its stead a larger bed, spacious living space--finally enough room for you not to trip on Lynn whenever you need to get to the washroom. A tiny nook in the bulkhead has been made into a tidy library, the hardbacks in an indiscernible Raal dialect are one of the only clues you have testifying of someone else's presence.

You've spent little time alone with Vorik since you both exited the Holodeck and even littler properly discussing the repercussions.

In the hours afterwards, a green tint seemed to permanently curl high on his cheeks and to the point of his ears. So far you had refrained from mentioning it but the more Vorik tried to stitch himself together, the harder it became.

“I will put in the request for larger quarters before I begin my shift.” Vorik says as you progress further into the corridor towards the observation deck. “I am not entirely familiar with human mating customs but shared quarters seemed to be the norm.”

“Well yes, but I wouldn't want to walk on your toes.” That has been an issue early on, ever since you'd brushed off the sand of your skin and started working it out of your hair. “As long as it doesn't bother you, I mean.”

“Then it is settled.” For a moment the walk to sickbay turned silent, the only sounds being both your footfalls and the ambient hum of the ship. Yet over this, whenever you allow yourself to focus intently on it, you can hear, feel something else. A sort of low murmur that scrapes yet soothes.

“I grew up on a starship.” You blurted out, eager to fill the silence and not direct your energy towards the bond. “The USS Reliant. When I was a kid I thought I'd spend my entire life in space. I was sick to my stomach when I learned that Earth wasn't a Nebula-class.”

You turn to glance at him, feeling blood rushing to your cheeks when noticing his face turning olive. “I... perceived parts of your childhood during our mating. You bear a great affection to space exploration.”

“I'd like to think everyone on this ship does.” You joke, “It wouldn't be much of a life otherwise...”

Vorik rounds a corner and you follow suit, as he walks ahead of you look at the twitching in his hands. Far less pronounced than before. A whisper recalls many past actions, many of which consisted of those very fingers trailing across your tongue or dragging fiercely along your skin. Your mate slows his pace down to match yours. “I am not an off-worlder but I share a similar interest. I have directed many hours towards the practice of botany.”

Just as the door to sickbay appears a small ways away, you realize. “Wait, when Kes said she had help growing those Vulcan fruits, the Gespar, a week ago, she didn't mean the Lieutenant?”

Perhaps he had lied then when you were looking around for your clothes and attempting to make yourself semi-presentable, perhaps the _Pon_ _Farr_ was not truly over and only pride stood in the way. Because right there, just three feet before you reached sickbay, Vorik stopped in his tracks and looked intently at you. “My knowledge in such a subject as well as my other competences cannot be put into question, I assure you I am more than a suitable mate. I have demonstrated thusly during our mating, but should you wish to challenge--”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” You squeaked. “I'm really happy with our mating.”

“I am pleased as well.” A beat, “I also sensed your inadequacy in the last hours of your joining, I am aware you abhorred certain romantic intentions toward me beforehand and they have caused you to pursue me as a mate.”

Forget the Captain's intrusion earlier, this is definitely mortifying. Before you could properly drown in your shame however, Vorik pressed on. “It is true my goal was to join with Chief B'Elanna Torres, however it is illogical to dwell on these intricacies while in our current situation. I have gained a better understanding of your... human emotions and wish to remain mated to you. Are you in agreeance?” The low murmur in your mind had slowly intensified during your talk and with it the thread that bridged your mind tightened. You didn't know what truthfulness felt when shared this way but you believed it was what you felt when he spoke.

“I... I am, yes.” Had he always known, you found yourself thinking, or was it another image he'd chanced upon these last few days? It was no matter, a sudden logic settled in your mind when Vorik brought the back of his against yours in a slow caress. You felt wisps of affection echoed into you, restrained but present. “I am.”

A crack in the mask became apparent when Vorik's lips pulled into a conservative smile even if a cool expression once more set itself in place. Vorik straightened his stance and turned once more towards sickbay.

“Shall we?”

  
//

Stardate 50562.5 -- July 25th, Day shift, 08:09

  
The doctor's visit, alone this time, is an absolute nightmare.

Without Kes or your mate about, the doctor has all the range he wants to be his usual snarky self. Forlorn, your eyes fall on the empty biobed where Vorik once sat. With his presence, the prodding would at least be tolerable. However, the EMH is too preoccupied rehearsing an Italian aria to perfection to truly sink his teeth into you.

“Terrific, isn't it?” The hologram says when loading a hypospray, “ _La Bohème_ is truly Puccini's best, thought some would argue _La Fanciulla del West_ \--” He goes on as music plays in the background, sometimes outright singing or humming when you don't answer. On a particularly high note, he stops to examine your readings and his voice dies down. You've half a mind to ask if he's still having problems with his auditory processors when he orders you to lay back down.

“Doc?” You obey but still ask, strained. “What is it?” The sensor cluster closes shut over you, even then you're ordered to scoot further down the biobed. The sheet rustles under you while you obey but your attention's on the incomprehensible jumble of numbers and words on the screen.

He musters what he must think is a reassuring smile which only causes your mind to race. “Hopefully the sensors are only experiencing a slight malfunction.” His hands fly over the sensor cluster's console, beeps and chirps accompanying his every move.

“Malfunction? What's going on?”

“Past readings had not shown this properly but it appears your hormone levels have not been kept consistent.” When all he gets from you is a blank stare, he grumbles, “I've access to your file, I know you've taken Medicine as an extension course for a month.”

“Out of _three_!” You snap but instantly quiet down when he grows somber. “What does that mean?”

With a tap of a fingertip, the cluster slides back and with a poorly constructed mask of cheer, the doctor announces. “Congratulations! You're pregnant.”

You've heard of this game before, an archaic program created during the era of first space exploration on Earth. A simple game where a tiny pixel bounces from one bar to the next, named Pong you believe. Well right about now, you do feel like the white pixel meant to be the ball is bouncing around in your brain, dreadfully slowly traveling to pass on information.

After a moment, when the doctor has turned off the music without your noticing, you say, “I've had my injection last month.”

“That is why the idea of a sensor malfunction is worth exploring.” The doctor placates. “I'm sure Chief Torres will iron this little bug right away.” Mechanically, you put on your clothes, slip inside your boots. “In the meantime, I want you to go on as usual with minimal physical exercise.”

When you walk out, your mind set ablaze and perhaps more than anxiousness curling inside your stomach, you hear him say. “Doctor's orders!”

  
It's not a malfunction.

  
//

Stardate 50580.6 -- July 31st, Night shift, 22:28

  
There's no official ceremony. Vorik requires his brother present and you don't care much for a human wedding. You do however occasionally wear a ring when you happen to remember to do so. The green tinge on his cheeks when he sees it or run his fingers over the metal is enough to put effort into putting it on.

Progressively, lunches with Vorik, Bee and Lynn aren't so awkward anymore, dates at the hydroponics bay caring for his plants become the regular, detours to Engineering are more common but Lieutenant Ashryl is always here to hush you out before you can 'get any ideas'. And a few weeks or so in, the mid 2000s Caribbean setting on the Holodeck doesn't make your mind wander anymore.

It really is a shame that there is no rationalizing away the byproduct of a few weeks ago. There's not much you can do about it to forget and any thought of it creates a ripple of anxiety that always warrants worry from Vorik, not that he would acknowledge it as such.

“Vulcans do not worry.” He'd stated on more than one occasion even as it shone through his eyes.

“Good,” You'd said burrowed under the heated covers. The anomaly you'd encountered some hours ago had gnawed through the life support system and rendered the two Vulcans on board almost comatose in the extremely low temperature. Repairs had been made but the systems were slow to reset. “It's nothing to worry about.”

“Yet you do.” He protested, keeping his cold hands in between your stomachs, his breath was hot in your ear. “I can feel your anxiety through our bond... Allow me to put your mind at ease.”

“Focus on getting warmer.” You chastised, laying a kiss on his cheek. “Are you sure I can't tempt you with some tea? It'd go a long way...”

“I find your attempts at distraction--” Vorik stilled suddenly when your position on top of him turned precarious and certainly more tempting. “--fruitless and revealing of a deeper issue.”

“I bet.”

“Again I fail to see the usefulness of this position.”

As a proper explanation failed you yourself, a slow but deliberate grind into his hips silenced any further complaints.

  
// 

Stardate 50590.9 -- August 4th, Swing shift, 16:18

  
“Ah, Ensign Vorik!” You startle, eyes snapping to the opened doors and the approaching figure of your mate. “You are just in time,” The doctor says, encouraging you to lie back down as the sensor cluster locks into place over you.

“ _Ashal-veh_ ,” Vorik greets, offering his fingers for a finger embrace. You welcome the contact, falling into each other's eyes while your minds reconnect. A flare of your uncertainty transfers to him and his side of the bond hums in confusion. That is, before the doctor clears his throat and you drop your hand back down under the cluster. “Doctor, Lieutenant Torres requires my presence in thirty two minutes, I trust this is urgent.”

“I have news for you, news your spouse should have revealed themselves, might I add.”

Cool brown eyes slide back onto you, “Does he have your permission?”

“He does.” The doctor pulls the words from your mouth, obnoxious as always. “I operate on a strict doctor/patient confidentiality as you well know, Ensign.” He cleared his throat. “But I digress, as this has become a far more pressing matter, I have the pleasure to offer you my congratulations. In approximately forty weeks, you will become a father.”

Holding up to his Vulcan heritage, Vorik gives you nothing to work with on the surface but you feel it--a ripple not your own. A give? A buckle funneled into your mind. He's anxious. And... Silent.

“I see. Thank you for informing me, doctor. Must I deduce you have reached the decision to keep the child?”

A chill falls over you and too late do you realize the previous sentiment shared through the link was him shutting himself from you. You feel hollowed out, as if scraped raw by his own hands. It takes a beat, the doctor moving away to retrieve something and you coping with the absence to utter, “Vorik?”

He's apprehensive, that you know but you don't expect his next words. “I will not weigh on this issue.”

“I need for you to stay still,” The doctor chastises you, hovering a hypospray over your prone form. The sensor cluster slides back into the biobed below you with a quiet mechanical whir. “Now there are some other issues conern--”

Freed, you bat away the doctor's attempt at medication and keep your stare on Vorik. A knot ties into your chest, dumbly you stare at him. A distinct weigh presses behind your eyes and a burning sensation settles in your nose. “You don't care... You don't care about this?”

“You misunderstand my stance, this decision is not mine to make.”

You can't seem to pick your jaw from the floor but the doctor finally manages a prick in your upper arm. “Know that I appreciate the awkwardness of both your positions, but you are in my sickbay and I can't tolerate any lover's quarrel in this en--”

Vorik stays shock still even as he dryly commands, “Computer, deactivate the Emergency Medical Hologram.” The doctor disappears, and a semi-full hypospray of prenatal nutrients clatters to the ground. “This is not a discussion that requires an audience.” He justifies, putting his joined hands behind his back.

With far more bite than intended, you say, “I thought Vulcans had no ego to speak of.”

Vorik tactfully avoids your barb, going around the biobed to pick up the hypospray and place it on a nearby tray. “Some dealings should remain private and the doctor has proven himself to be unreliable in such matters. As for our current situation, I wish to hear your opinion.”

“...Naomi Wildman died during an enemy attack.” You stated bluntly, “If it weren't for the temporal phenomenon, Samantha would have lost her child. I'm scared that if that were to happen again, if a deck gave way or we encountered a deadly space anomaly--I would have to grieve for a child I chose to keep.” You felt a strong grip squeezing inside your chest. “But our trek through the Delta quadrant will take decades and Naomi is doing so well... I don't know.”

“Then we shall not go through with this.” He states, “I understand the complicated nature of this decision and I will offer any counsel you might require no matter what it is you choose. But ashal-veh, you alone possess that right. I understand you consider yourself young--”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“--too young. And you anticipated having children much later in life, after graduating from the Academy no least. I myself did not expect to consider fatherhood for decades to come.” The rope that you often perceive as your bond during meditation suddenly tugs at you, a growing feeling of warmth emerges in your chest with the pull of it. It is quickly stilled however and a pressure bears on your mind, restrictive and tight. “Our return home will indeed take years, and will prove to be dangerous. I cannot promise I will be enough to protect all of us yet I am also divided on this position. But you must understand, my desires are not yours to bear.”

“So... you are considering this.” 

“As I said, it is not my prerogative.”

“Then, why do this?” You can feel the tears burning in your eyes, can hardly see clearly through the gloss of them. “Why would you shut me out?”

His lips slightly press together for a split second, a tell you've just discovered a week ago when you'd offered him a taste of a flan and he'd attempted to tiptoe around his true impression.

“It was never my intention to cause you distress. I did not know you would so acutely sense my actions, I apologize.” A slow rumble tickles the back of your mind, a moderate trickle of otherness slipping into your psyche. Vorik steps closer, just as you slide your legs over the biobed. Relief pours from you in waves, the sudden restraint you'd experienced had been suffocating.

Pacified, you note, “You didn't answer me.”

Vorik sighs even as a muted light dance in his eyes when he says next, “Human reproductive cycles do not often match with those of Vulcan's. The fact that you are an omega and not a beta or an alpha offers less than optimal chances of reproduction, it is not guaranteed the opportunity for you to conceive will arise seven or fourteen years from now.”

A primal urge your kind would like to consider long bred out arises at the mention of your potential failure to reproduce. “I can't believe you're reducing this to logic.”

Sensing the insult communicated through the bond, Vorik frowns. “ _Kaiidth_ \--what is, is. I meant no offense.”

You sigh, “I know... I can't say I expected half of what's happened to us so far. The transpectral array's schematics were going to be completed in less than two weeks. I should have been back at the Academy studying for Temporal Mehanics, not facing down an armada of Kazons.”

“The past few years have been...” A pulse of doubt echoes into you, your subsequent snort makes him relax his shoulders. “...unpredictable but no less pleasant.” Wordlessly, he extends his joined index and middle fingers in the _ozh'esta_. A delicate buzz starts in your stomach, spreading to your arm and fingers when you connect your own fingers to his. “No matter the shortcomings you believe we are experiencing, such a bond is quite desirable for telepaths like my people. And I would enjoy exploring life with you as a bondmate, it's of little consequence to me what your choice regarding our child should be; you may be forever in my mind but I do not have any rights over your actions.”

Fragments of thoughts and feelings pour into you as Vorik confesses, the truth is palpable but so's the faint creep of elation when he senses your decision taking shape. “What does your logic say about us being ready for a child?”

“Logic dictates you should have used the time you spent petitioning your Zeldan companion for 'relationship advice'--that she profoundly lacks--into obtaining larger quarters.

Taken aback, but thoroughly amused, you reply, “Vorik, did you just make a joke?”

His lips quirked up. “If you choose to interpret this as such, I shall not debate you.”

Heat licked at your front, up to your neck and cheeks as you both focused on the other. The link was undeniable, no matter the forming pain crawling up your neck that threatened to soon claim you and stop your connection short. The ideas communicated in between you two remained abstract words to you--attention/devotion/my thoughts/open/mine--but you felt the deeper meaning and strength of those shimmering out of your reach. As fruitless as it were for you to try and reach, whenever you grazed the real extent of one, surges of emotions filtered over to you, short electric bursts prickling the skin of your fingertips.

When the headache grew too strong to ignore, Vorik pulled back from the bond. “You should not push yourself for my own pleasure.”

“Not only your own.” Before he retracted his touch, you asked, “Will you indulge me?” Before the headache started to properly hurt, you pushed the image of a kiss, _human_. The kiss shared during your heat you insisted when a frown came to mar his features.

Listlessly but with some interest ruffling his side of the bond, Vorik mechanically leans into you. His lips graze yours briefly, barely pressing onto them before disengaging. His gaze snaps to yours when you laugh. “Did I not perform to your liking?”

“No, you did well. Considering.” You hiccup, “It's going to take some practice, is all.” You offer your hand and he obliges you, cradling it in his own. “But in the meantime, you should brace yourself... Computer, activate the EMH.”

The hologram doctor rants and raves once he becomes conscious of your earlier interruption. Throughout his fiery tirade, him taking three different blood samples, and obnoxious thrusts into examinations after examinations, Vorik never leaves your side.

  
//

Stardate 50547.7 -- July 19th, Night shift, 21:52

  
On the veranda overlooking the crashing waves, with fatigue clawing at your core, you're curled tightly alongside one another. Soon the _Pon Farr_ will ebb away, but for now Vorik regains very little of his consciousness. As if sensing your thoughts, he stirs, muscles in his arms ripple when he crawls over you.

He speaks in this language you still cannot make sense of. It usually spells out the loss of control but instead of feeling the hard line of his sex against your thigh, Vorik extends a hand. His fingers part, leaving only his index and pointer fingers held out. “ _Krus s' nash-veh heh worla krus. Worla heh kwon-sum esta heh estuhl. Telsu, nash-veh bek-tor du._ ”

_Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched. Mate, I long for thee._

Thoughts swirl around your mind, glances at a final parting. And instinctively, you say, clumsily and stumbling on every syllable--“ _El'ru'esta_ ”

More foreign memories take shape, _t'dahsular s'ka-yu-mur_ , _Enterprise_. Vorik, with eyes set aflame traces the tips of his fingers along your knuckles. He corrects, “ _Ozh'esta_.” With a press of the bond, you feel the change in tone, the impulse inside of him.

When your fingers touch, the heat wilts inside his eyes. Soft, feather soft caresses fall on your skin. With each stroke, you feel the pleasure echoed into you, the exhilaration brewing with each inch of skin re-explored, retraced.

In the artificial dying light, when your body has grown too tender and a lull at last establishes itself in your lovemaking--the etheral thread bridging your minds thrums with emotions.

“ _Taluhk nash-veh k'dular_...”

And for once, when he speaks in this tongue you've just gotten used to hearing, you understand the affection dripping from every word and bask in it even when you know the spell will break in less than a day.

“I cherish thee as well.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yep it's disjointed and mangled but by God if i didn't post it now, I never would have. You guys know any Vorik fics? I need to get my hands on some... for reasons.


End file.
